Pirate

She sighed. “I suppose that’s my fault for suggesting we go to the bookstore to begin with. I thought the book would add to the nautical theme of your new office.”

“I’ll enjoy the reproduction as much, if not more. Especially with its checkered past.”

“And where is it we’re off to?” she asked as they walked into the lobby.

“First to get our luggage. Then a drive down the coast to Monterey.”

“Dinner and key lime pie at Roy’s?”

Before he had a chance to answer, they were met by the on-duty manager, his face etched with concern. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I can’t tell you how very sorry I am. And if there’s anything I can do, I — nothing like this has ever happened before. At least not as long as I’ve worked here.”

“What’s never happened before?” Sam asked.

“The police. They came with a warrant to search through your things.”

“A warrant?” Remi asked, certain she’d misunderstood. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine anything they might’ve done that would result in a police investigation.

“We tried to call you, but it went straight to voice mail.”

They’d both turned off the ringers on their cell phones while being interviewed by Sergeant Trevino.

Sam asked, “You have a copy of the warrant?”

“A copy?”

“The police are required to leave a copy of the warrant.”

“Perhaps you could ask them yourself. They’re up in your room now.”

“Good idea,” he said. He and Remi started toward the elevator, the manager trailing behind them. “No wonder Sergeant Fauth wasn’t there this morning,” Sam said to Remi. “He was busy searching our rooms while his partner kept us distracted at the police station, asking superficial questions about the robbery.”

“Search for what?” Remi asked as Sam jabbed at the up button. “We were just as much a victim as poor Mr. Pickering. And, really, they could simply have asked. Far less embarrassing that way.” She turned a brittle smile on the manager, who seemed to be listening to every word. In truth, she was surprised Sam hadn’t asked the manager to wait behind, but then realized if the police were searching their room — something she found hard to believe, never mind extremely humiliating — having a witness was probably not a bad thing.

The manager inserted his key into the elevator, allowing it access to the concierge level. When it opened onto their floor, and the manager let them into their suite, Remi saw two men in dark suits, both wearing latex gloves, one going through her suitcase on the bed, his hand in the lining feeling about for whatever he thought might be hidden there. The other was opening the cabinets by the bar.

Remi whispered to Sam. “I don’t see Sergeant Fauth.”

The man near the bar moved toward them, his gaze narrowed and menacing. “This is official police business. You’ll need to leave.”

Sam stepped in front of Remi, shielding her. “That’s not going to happen. I’d like to see some ID,” he demanded. “And a copy of the warrant.”

“Here’s your warrant.” He pulled out a sheaf of folded papers from his breast pocket as he and his partner advanced toward them.

The detective shoved the papers into Sam, pushing him into the entryway table. Sam grabbed the man’s shoulder, then swung him around, slamming him into the wall. They struggled in the doorway. Suddenly, his partner jumped into the fray, coming at Sam from behind. Sam rammed his fist into the first guy’s jaw, then spun around, kicking the second guy, who went flying into the manager, knocking them both to the ground. Remi jumped back, looked around for a weapon, grabbing a vase from a nearby table. She lifted it, ready to strike. The second guy saw her, took one look at Sam and his partner, then scrambled from the room.

Sam grappled with the first detective. The man swung. Sam blocked the blow with his left arm, brought his right fist into the guy’s gut. The detective dropped to his knees, saw Sam coming at him again, then dove through the door after his partner. Sam started after them but thought better of it, returning and locking the door instead. He eyed Remi holding the vase. “That for me or for them?”

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

She gave a slight nod toward the manager on the floor.

Sam reached down, helping him to his feet. “You okay?”

“More startled than anything.” He brushed at his clothing. “This is an outrage. I assure you, we’ll contact the Police Department and register a complaint.”

“Trust me,” Sam said, “they weren’t cops.”

“But I saw the warrant.”

Sam picked up the so-called warrant from the ground, looking at the papers. “Forged. There’s no signed affidavit. Probably pulled off the Internet from some old case.” He handed them to Remi.

She quickly looked them over. “What do you think they were searching for?”

“Whatever it was they hoped to find in Mr. Pickering’s safe, would be my guess.”

A quick call to the police verified that the two men were not, in fact, law enforcement, and within minutes uniformed officers flooded the area in hopes of finding the suspects.